This is a mid day photo of the fishing boats off the beach of Jamestown Accra
This is a street vendor selling the morning’s catch.
I was wrong. I reported in my 28 August 2010 blog posting that the bats were back. They were here for only three days/nights and then they left. Obviously, something wasn’t right for them. I noticed on their first day that they were darting in and out of the trees but not landing. Perhaps the dense vegetation of the rainy season has made it difficult for them to secure hanging places on the branches. We’ll keep watching for them.
We have had some of our most beautiful weather the past three weeks. The morning mist has diminished. The temperatures have been truly tropical, 80 - 85 degrees each day. The breezes have been refreshing. And the sky has been blue, not the gray that was so discouraging our first few months here. It is slowly getting warmer.
A week ago I stood next to Daniel Kabason, one of the Ghanaian office employees, in the lobby and told him how much I was enjoying this beautiful September weather. He didn’t seem to think that my excitement warranted a response, which is not surprising as I have found most Africans have little interest in the weather, but he must have felt obligated to try and make small talk so he asked “What is September weather like where you come from?” Well, I wasn’t going to let that question go unanswered. Americans are always interested in the weather. I started into the excitement of September in the Rocky Mountains describing with great animation how the leaves of the trees were changing colors, the night time temperatures were cooling, the day time warmth was waning, and the breezes were hinting of coming winter. I told him that the best way to describe the weather was “crisp.” He looked at me for a moment, obviously trying to understand my animated description, and slowly asked “What do you mean by crisp?” I didn’t have an answer for him. How does one explain “crisp” to someone who has never been out of 95% humidity? Crisp doesn’t happen here in West Africa . Soggy does, but not crisp.
In that same 28 August blog posting I commented on our neighbor’s tree that dropped all of its leaves in a three day period. I posted a picture showing the bare branches. This next picture, taken two weeks later, shows the same tree in full foliage.
Note all of the leaves. I vaguely remember something from biology that in the fall when the temperatures start cooling the sap (nutrition) of the tree pulls back from the branches toward the trunk which results in the falling of the leaves, and then after a dormant winter and the warming of the temperatures the sap moves back out to the branches bringing nutrition for the new leaves. It is amazing that this tree in Africa has adapted to the environment in that its fall/winter cycle is just two weeks.
I mentioned that the temperatures are warming. In the past two weeks the pleasant afternoons have become hot. Our drive home from the office to the apartment is sticky again. The night time temperatures require keeping the bedroom air conditioner running. I need to share an observation I have made about the difficulty of determining the temperature in Ghana Ghana
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Here is how the thermometer works. Leave the Elle & Vire French Butter out of the refrigerator in a bowel. If after an appropriate time, such as an hour, it is soft but still formed it is Comfortable degrees. If the butter is soft but has lost its shape then it is Hot degrees. If it is liquid and has the appearance of yellow oil then it is Really Hot degrees. You know it is Miserably Hot degrees when you lean over to check the butter, you see that it is yellow oil, and the sweat off your face drops onto the countertop. I have found this method of telling the temperature very accurate. The above photo clearly demonstrates that it is Comfortable approaching Hot. And, by the way, in researching this method I have also come to appreciate the wonderful taste of French butter (without the sweat.) The French really do know how to make their butter. And how to use it. For more than thermometers. (Didn’t Julia Child once say that if what you are cooking doesn’t taste right simply add more butter? French butter. If she didn’t say that I’m sure she thought it.) When we leave Ghana
I have discovered another item to add to the LGU (List of Ghana Unexplainables.) This is a statue with an associated word display located on the road along the ocean from downtown Accra
I have asked four Ghanaians to explain the statue and display and none of them can do it. Two doctors at Korle Bu called it the “dog” statue. They were standing together when I asked about the statue. They both laughed when I called it the “golden calf” statue. They said it was not a calf, but a dog. It often has a scarf around its neck. Both of them thought it had been built by descendents of the Ga tribe who were the original inhabitants of Accra
Speaking of lists I have been considering, for a while, to start a new list of Ghana Ghana that Make Living Here Easier. (I definitely need a better name than that.) Ghana
Now, if you are looking at this photo and thinking “That looks like a bunch of zip lock bags stuck on the wall” you are completely correct. It is not an example of Ghanaian modern art. (That would require empty water sachets.) It is a method of drying zip lock bags. Simply take the zip lock bag, once carefully washed and rinsed inside and out, shake off the excess water, place the wet bag on the wall and open the zip lock an inch or so. The bag adheses (I’m sure “adheses” is a word despite spell checker telling me right now it’s not) to the wall and dries over the ensuing hours. Of course, it is obvious that one needs to place the bags on a wall covered with ceramic tile, as evident in the picture. And it is equally obvious that the temperature inside the kitchen has to be warm enough to dry the bags. (Check your Elle & Vire French Butter thermometer.) Keep this suggestion in mind the next time you wash your zip lock bags. If you ever read about this practical hint for homemakers in Martha Stewart’s Modern Living remember where you first heard it.
Let me get serious for a moment. Marsha and I have come to love many aspects of our lives here in Accra 2 July 2010 .)
I want to share two recent experiences. There is humor in each but more meaning to the experience than what makes us laugh.
The first involves an incident while shopping at Max Mart. We were standing in one of the aisles looking at spices and I noticed at the end of the aisle a young woman with four girls. The woman appeared to be in her twenties and all of the girls appeared to be eight to ten years old. I don’t think they were a family. The girls appeared to be friends rather than siblings. They were very pretty. Each of them was wearing a long, brightly colored dress. Some had head scarves. My first impression was that they were on their way to a party. As Marsha looked over the items on the shelves I turned my head to observe the group. I smiled at them, and the girls giggled. They whispered among themselves. Then two of then, one dressed in pink, with close cropped hair and bright earrings, and another in turquoise with a matching head wrap, walked by me, grinned and said “Good afternoon.” I replied “Good afternoon ladies. Both of you are very pretty today.” This made them giggle as they walked by. They disappeared at the end of the aisle. Within minutes they were back at the beginning of the aisle with the other two girls and the older woman. Once again the group of girls talked in whispers among themselves. The older woman appeared to be seriously shopping and was oblivious to, or purposefully ignoring, the whispering of the girls. The two girls, one in pink and one in turquoise, again walked by and giggled. I thought that we had perhaps started a game. Marsha and I moved on to the vegetables and stopped. As I stood holding the shopping cart these two girls walked up to me and indicated they wanted to talk to me. They wanted to whisper something. I bent down and the girl in pink asked “Where are the chocolates?” I walked the two of them over to a small display of chocolates. They asked “Which is good chocolate?” I pointed to what I thought would be a good choice. I noticed the girl in turquoise had a crumpled one cedi note in her hand. Most of the chocolates were three to seven cedis. I went back to the vegetables. As Marsha and I moved on from the vegetables the two girls appeared again and wanted to help push the cart. I tried to explain to them that I didn’t need help. They indicated they needed to whisper something to me. The girl in pink asked “Can you buy chocolate?” Without thinking, perhaps charmed by their innocence and knowing what they wanted, I walked them back to the chocolate display, picked out a chocolate bar, took them up front and purchased it. They giggled and smiled. I gave them the chocolate. The cashier appeared confused so I explained that I was buying the chocolate for my two new friends. The cashier continued to look confused. The girls, with the chocolate in hand, disappeared from the store. I did not see the other girls and the older woman in the store.
I thought about this brief encounter for a few minutes. Had I just been scammed? Possibly. Would I allow it to happen again? Probably. I doubt the girls would have approached a Ghanaian and tried the same tactics. Was I upset? Not a bit. I considered it another unique Ghanaian experience.. For the cost of a chocolate bar, I had given two girls (possibly four girls, and the older woman, or I’d like to think, perhaps, all of the kids at a party) a moment to giggle and smile. And to enjoy some chocolate that they obviously didn’t have the resources to purchase. Would this have happened at home in the States? No. The girls would have probably shoplifted the chocolate. Or I would have been arrested for child molestation.
The next experience happened last week on the highway to Tema. The windshield wiper blade on the passenger side of our car broke two weeks ago. Part of the rubber blade tore off producing a black spaghetti strand that flopped back and forth over our windshield each time the wipers were turned on. We were pulling up to the Tema Highway
As the cars inched along one of the vendors, an outgoing entrepreneurial Shuck's Auto Supply type young man carrying jumper cables, steering wheel covers, and wiper blades approached us and noticed our damaged wiper blade. He pointed to it and then to his replacement blades. I shook my head “no,” not wanting to be slowed in getting through the booths. He wasn’t about to take that for an answer. He walked right alongside our moving car, picked up our wiper, and demonstrated with much satisfaction the broken blade, pointing to it as if to say “You thought you could ignore this? I noticed it. You can’t fool me.” He then smiled. Marsha rolled down her window and asked the price. Ten cedis. I asked him if he could change the blades quickly. By this time we were at the booth. I paid our toll. He followed us through the booth and motioned us to the side of the road. We pulled over to the side and he changed the blades in about one minute, making a few adjustments to the metal parts of the blades with his built in pliers – his teeth. He really did a good job. Marsha and I were both impressed. We chuckled at how quickly he had noticed the broken blade, had seized upon the opportunity, and had convinced us to do business with him. I paid him and was just about to compliment him on his business technique when he proceeded to take the money, drop the old blades right on the road, and walk away. What was humorous became aggravating. It was very irritating to see him drop the used blades and walk away. Why do Ghanaians think they can drop everything on the ground? Aargh. I wanted to shout at him to pick up his trash. Ghanaians seriously need a generation of mean mothers to teach their children to pick up after themselves.
I have had several email queries regarding my facial injury described in the blog dated 2 July 2010 . I am disappointed to report that I didn’t have a larvae growing in my face. I did have some kind of bite, however, that took six weeks to heal. It has left me with some discoloration and a slight pucker to the skin at the site of injury. Unfortunately, it is under my jaw line enough that it is difficult to see. Too bad. I was hoping for something visually disfiguring enough that it would prompt my grandchildren, when sitting on my lap, to inquire of its origin. To which I would respond with great animation, “Let me tell you about when I lived in Africa . It was very dangerous there. Lots of animals want to eat you. One day . . . . . . . "
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